


cold hands

by miiniwa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kotatsu, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miiniwa/pseuds/miiniwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>—and he sighs again, slowly falling asleep to the thought of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cold hands

**Author's Note:**

> because cold weather means kotatsu fics.....

_Two minutes_ , Akaashi thinks to himself, after looking at the time on his cell phone.

 

He neatly tucks his phone back into his pocket, keeping his hands there to keep them warm, because it's cold at the train station, especially at five thirty in the morning, when the sun is just barely coming up.

 

The train comes into view, and just as Akaashi had so accurately predicted, an extremely familiar voice comes up from behind him, followed by a slight bump against his shoulder.

 

"I made it in time!" Bokuto exclaims, relief evident in both his tone and his face as he stops right at Akaashi's side, taking a few seconds to catch his breath before they have to go through the open doors of the train.

 

"You always do, somehow," Akaashi comments dully, with Bokuto slightly pouting behind him.

 

"One of these days, you really might miss the train," he continues, because the more he thinks about it, the more probable it seems.

 

"Have a bit more faith in me, Akaashi," Bokuto complains, unaware that overall, Akaashi probably always has.

 

Akaashi looks away, deciding to keep that to himself.

 

"Oh, right, Akaashi, Akaashi," Bokuto starts suddenly, insistently poking at his shoulder as they sit down, and Akaashi calmly raises a brow.

 

"'Morning, Akaashi," Bokuto says, beaming, and Akaashi briefly thinks that it makes up for the current lack of sunlight.

 

"Good morning," he replies, setting his bag down, feeling somehow at ease about everything, while Bokuto starts humming a small tune.

 

Akaashi glances over at him, quietly grateful, quietly in love, with his gaze moving towards the sun rising behind him, and it makes him feel a little bit warmer.

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

It's a cold, winter afternoon when Bokuto suddenly confesses.

 

It had occurred moments after afterschool volleyball practice had ended, and it had also been the least of Akaashi's expectations.

 

However, he had realized that the fact that Bokuto's confession had come unexpectedly had somehow been expected in itself, and it had left Akaashi in a slightly messy paradox of thoughts.

 

Either way, through chilly winter wind and a light sprinkle of snowflakes, Akaashi had admitted that he had the same feelings for him, and he swears its the happiest he's seen Bokuto off the court.

 

After that, Bokuto had excitedly dragged Akaashi to his house to 'celebrate,' and before he knew it, he found himself sitting at the recently set-up kotatsu in Bokuto's living room, watching classic Christmas films on TV, and drinking too-sweet coffee that Bokuto had made.

 

"Akaashi, you can change the channel, you know," Bokuto calls out from the kitchen, where he is currently washing the dishes that they had used to eat instant ramen.

 

"It's fine," Akaashi replies, voice almost muffled through his scarf, which he had decided to keep on even indoors.

 

He leans forward, cheek pressing against the table as he closes his eyes, mind dully processing the sounds around him, such as the television, and the random kitchen noises made via Bokuto.

 

Akaashi exhales a long breath, aware that even though they had confessed, the atmosphere around them hasn't changed much, but in all honesty, he prefers it this way.

 

An image of Bokuto's confessing face comes to mind, as he keeps his eyes closed, and he recalls how flushed Bokuto's cheeks had been, how the white snowflakes seemed to blend in with his hair, and the abrupt spark in his eyes when he had said, "I really— like you."

 

And when it had been Akaashi's turn to talk, he had been nervous and mostly fragmented, and it had been Bokuto's smile that had quietly calmed him down.

 

From the direction of the kitchen, he can still hear Bokuto's movements, the clattering of pots, and the short things he mutters to himself, and he sighs again, slowly falling asleep to the thought of him.

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

Bokuto wakes up at around ten at night, mostly confused and disoriented before he notices the time on the clock.

 

He yawns, arms stretching before he realizes that he's still sitting at the kotatsu, and when he looks on ahead, Akaashi is right in front of him, head pressed against the table, and peacefully asleep.

 

He stares at him for a few seconds, because while at the kotatsu, he has probably never woken up before Akaashi, and he unconsciously feels somewhat blessed to finally be able to see it.

 

Bokuto heaves out a long sigh, made up of the feelings he had accumulated throughout that year — _a lot of feelings_ — and those winter's thoughts.

 

He traces a finger along the green tea stains on the corner of the table, which seems to mark their third winter together (with him as a college student who only came home during holiday breaks), and he suddenly feels grateful for him being there.

 

Bokuto looks a couple centimeters ahead, spotting Akaashi's hands on the table, slightly clenched, with a few calluses from dedicated volleyball practice.

 

He reaches over, hand quietly touching Akaashi's, and he doesn't stir at all.

 

His hands are still cold, Bokuto realizes, and it almost becomes a mystery as to how that could be possible when they've been sitting at the kotatsu for such a long time.

 

Bokuto glances over at Akaashi's face again, cautious and sneaky, as if Akaashi would be able to tell, before he feels the ends of his lips tilt up.

 

...

 

When Akaashi wakes up at midnight, the first thing he registers is the significant warmth at his hands.

 

He tiredly keeps his head pressed against the table, thinking that it might just be the coffee mug against his hands, or possibly his scarf.

 

_No, it's probably_ —

 

He finally lifts his head, and he wonders why Bokuto's hands are loosely holding onto his.

 

Even so, he can't deny that it makes everything feel _warmer_ , and he looks on ahead, an amused breath passing through his lips, when he thinks about Bokuto waking up and deciding to hold onto his hands.

 

He glances over at the clock, a sort of unusual carefree feeling in his chest before he closes his eyes, deciding to resign himself to five more minutes and Bokuto's sleeping face.


End file.
